The sun rose high in the sky as Hunter trekked over the grassy earth, his bow in hand, his pace a slow canter. The pads of his paws pressed against the soil, still damp from the previous rain, leaving shallow footprints behind him. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face as the sun beat down on him.

He had been traveling for over an hour now, and he showed no signs of slowing down. Hunter shielded his eyes from the sun, looking out in front of him, shielding his eyes from the sun with his free hand. He scanned the valley, concentrating on a small dot in the flat plain off in the distance. As he walked, the tiny spot seemed to grow larger and larger.

Hunter had sighted the campsite.

As he grew closer, the outline of tents was clearly visible. It was hard to believe that only the night before he had been creeping through the grass at this same spot, watching the same campsite that was lying in front of him now.

The grass was getting taller now. Hunter, still being cautious, began to creep through the grass, looking for any enemies that might still be lurking about. Seeing that nobody was there, he walked forward with much less caution, scanning the campsite with his light blue eyes.

He searched for the fallen figure of the freakish creature that had attacked him the previous night. He looked left and right, wrinkling his nose at the smell of rotting bodies that had just began to decompose. The further the gap closed between him and the campsite, the stronger the smell became. Finally, he could no longer take the sickly sweet smell that invaded his nostrils. He pulled his shirt up and over his nose, breathing air through his shirt. However, the stench still came through, causing Hunter to feel light headed. Desperate to be rid of the odor, he pulled his shirt even further up his chest, bunching it up over his nose. Sighing into his shirt, he felt relieved as the smell ceased.

Looking off into the distance, he could see a green lump in the middle of a group of tents, nearby an extinguished campfire. Knowing that this was the same campfire as the one last night, he realized that this green lump must be the beast that had attacked him last night. He walked through the camp at a slow, steady pace, careful not to let his shirt fall down. His paw stepped into a bit of spattered blood, feeling the sticky substance on his paw pads. Ignoring it, he moved kept stepping forward, seeing the dozens of dead grublins and other creatures lying around him, arrows embedded in their bodies, awful wounds from both spear and sword evident on their grotesque bodies. He stepped over many, careful not to tread on any of the swords and spears that were still lying on the grass.

Sure enough, there the ogre lie, face down in the soggy soil. Hunter looked it over, inspecting it closely. Disappointed, he saw that what he was looking for was not on the monster. However, realization dawned on him, and he stepped on the body with his right foot, grunting as he pushed on the body, moving it slightly, but not enough to flip it over.

Hunter groaned underneath his shirt. He was going to have to remove his improvised breathing mask in order to roll the body over.

He took a deep breath, and lowered the shirt. Almost instantly, he kneeled down, placing the balls of his feet firmly onto the ground, pushing with both hands on the underside of the heap of flesh. After much exertion, he managed to roll the body over. Without thinking, Hunter blew out all of the air he had been holding in, only to experience the full power of the stink of the dead body in front of him. Gagging, he quickly raised his shirt again, bunching it up over his snout, ridding himself of the scent of death.

He looked the body over again, his gaze coming to rest on the battered feather flight of the arrow that protruded from the creature's chest. Hunter stamped down on the body of the ogre, grabbing the flight and tugging on it hard, still holding his shirt with his other hand.

Upon entry, the muscle of the hulking beast had tightened around the shaft, making it impossible to remove by pulling. Hunter soon realized this, letting go of the arrow, his chest rising in falling with quick breaths. Shaking his head, he reached down, sliding the knife out of the built in sheath in his boot. Taking another deep breath, he held it in his lungs, letting go of the damp collar of his shirt.

He stuck the knife into the tiny slit between the skin and the arrow, trying to pry it out with it. It moved, but did not come out. Still holding his breath, hunter grabbed the flight of the arrow with his left hand as he worked with his right. As he used the knife, he could see disgusting looking clear liquid begin to leak out of the wound, sticky and greenish in color. Hunter tried not to vomit as he stuck the thin blade of the knife deeper in, making small cutting motions as he did so. Suddenly, he felt the arrow move. He began to wiggle it, turning his head away from the disgusting thing he was doing. He felt the arrow loosen even more. His lungs fit to burst, he heaved, pulling with all his might as he used the knife to pry it out. He could not help but let the air escape form his lungs in a mighty yell as he yanked the arrow free from the wound, causing him to stumble backward and fall to the ground.

Gasping, Hunter quickly placed his nose under the shirt, but not before he got another whiff of the foulest stench he had ever experienced in his entire life. He had smelled rotting bodies before, but this far surpassed anything he had ever been through previously. He nearly threw up, but somehow managed to control himself.

He held the arrow in front of his eyes, wiping the disgusting grime away from the tip. As he did this, he noticed that the tip was not metal, but a very sharp flint. The only type of arrows used by the attackers the night before were metal tipped. Not only this, but the arrowhead was tied to the shaft with what looked to be animal sinew, thinner than any thread, but twice as strong. Not only this, but the arrow was much shorter than the average longbow arrow used by the cheetahs of Avalar.

One thing was for certain; this arrow did not belong to anybody in the village of Avalar. So, then, who on earth could it be?

As Hunter turned his head around, he found a small gap in between two of the tents that looked familiar…

Recognition dawned on Hunter, and his eyebrows rose with surprise. This was the spot where the archer had been!

Without waiting for a moment, the cheetah warrior trotted over to the spot, looking at the damp soil for any tracks. Sure enough, there they were; two paw prints in the damp earth, the claws facing the campfire. Taking another step, he saw a thin, clearly defined path between the tents, with prints spaced far apart in a line going down it. Hunter followed the trail left by the archer, slowly at first, then more quickly until he was at a jogging pace. He still kept the shirt tucked over his nose as he looked at the ground beneath him, seeing pawprint after pawprint after pawprint…

He looked up, only to see that he had walked out into the middle of an open field. His shoulders sagged, an annoyed grunt escaping from between his lips.

"He left the campsite," he stated to himself. Looking at the last clear print in front of him, he discerned which way the claws were facing. Getting down in both knees, he used his finger to trace a straight line from the middle claw to the horizon. However, the tip of his claw came to rest on the base of a huge, forested hill, a good hour away. Seeing his destination, he started forward, making his way slowly but surely to the hill in front of him.

…

The sun was now in Hunter's eyes, the golden yellow orb now lowering in the sky, perching just above the crest of the tall hill. The tall stalks of wild grass were beginning to annoy Hunter as they rubbed against his legs, tickling him. He was also getting very thirsty. To make things worse, he had brought only a single canteen of water, which was only half full at the moment. Sweat trickled into his eyes, causing a burning sting that he could not ignore.

"Damn it." He stopped mid-step to rub his eyes. When the burning had subsided, he opened his eyes again, looking ahead to the mountainous hill. He was only minutes away from reaching it, much to Hunter's relief. All he wanted to do now was get out of this field and into the shade. It also occurred to Hunter that there was a river in this region, the very same one that ran through the area near the cheetah village. Perhaps he could get some water there…

The height of the grass gradually decreased until it was barely up to the middle of Hunter's shin. A fly buzzed past the cloaked cheetah, and he swiped at it as it went near his eyes. This one was soon followed by two more. Hunter remembered the old adage, "Where there's bugs, there's water," and walked into the trees.

Unfortunately, not a minute had gone by until he began to step in marshy ground, flooded because of the rains of previous days. Bugs attacked him, landing on his face and legs. Smacking at them furiously, he danced a jig out of the marsh, the forest rejecting his desire for water.

Despite this setback, Hunter backtracked and found a way around the hellhole of bugs and mud. Soon, he began to hear the faint sound of running water. His tongue felt like paper. Unable to resist, he popped the lid on his canteen and took a long gulp.

Lucky for Hunter, he didn't have to wait for long. He soon encountered water in the form of a violent rapid. Knowing it would be stupidity trying to refill his water supply here, he made his way down the incline beside the tumbling torrent of water.

He reached a calmer area of the stream, the white water turning into a clear, babbling brook. This was the perfect place, because a stagnant body of water almost always meant a fresh supply of dirt and mosquito eggs. He uncapped his canteen again, but did not fill it until he had taken a taste from his cupped hand. Seeing that it was clean, he filled his container with it, screwed the lid on, and fastened it to his belt. Trying to get as much out of the water source as he could, he took many cupped handfuls of it, slurping it greedily.

All of a sudden, Hunter stopped drinking and splashing his sweaty face with the water. He kept very still, his ears twitching involuntarily. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled…

Someone was there.

Slowly sliding the knife out of its sheath in his boot, he gripped it firmly, making the movement as indistinguishable as he could to whoever was behind him. His heart raced, his muscles tensed, and his pupils dilated as he listened. Finally, he spoke out.

"Whoever you are, show yourself." He kept his voice calm, though he was tense as a coiled spring. He slid the knife into the sleeve of his cloak. "I know you're there."

As soon as he had said this, he could distinctly hear a peculiar sound, nearly inaudible, coming from the trees to his left. His heart went into his throat as years of experience as a bowman told him that this was the sound of an arrow sliding against the wood of a bow.

He whirled around to face his foe.

…

Author's Note: Aw, what's the matter? Don't like cliffhangers? :P

Again, I am dreadfully sorry for taking such a long time to write yet another ridiculously short chapter. I wish there was a way to make it up to anybody reading this, but with fencing, Tae Kwon Do, and homework, I don't have much free time to write. Sorry. DX

Next chapter coming in the future!